That’s right; I’m teaching the dog to cook

I’ve mentioned my new dog a couple times in recent months and know I’m probably pushing my luck with those readers who hate cutesy “animal stories.” But I feel I must post one final canine update here before abandoning the subject entirely.

And I have to do it now because Prince* has recently demonstrated some behaviors that are so unusual, so un-doglike, that it’s only a matter of time before he becomes more famous than Elvis and stops granting interviews to small-fry writers like me.

I knew the day Prince first arrived at our home that he was smarter than the average hound. He knew all his basic commands—sit, heel, come, speak and so on. Also, he picked up new instruction almost as fast as I could give it. Provided there was a treat involved.

More impressive, Prince demonstrated a spirit of adventure, dragging me via leash throughout the neighborhood as he marked each tree, bush and fire plug for future reference. If he possessed opposable thumbs, I’m sure he would have been drawing up topographical maps to aid those canines that might one day follow in his footsteps.

Also, he early on showed an aptitude for science, and not just the theoretical kind. Using techniques he developed himself, Prince is able to produce copious amounts of methane gas, usually in the evening while the rest of the family is trying to watch television.

Though he has yet to find a commercial use for this abundant fuel supply, I’m certain it’s only a matter of time.

Finally, and most remarkably, Price has taken an interest in cooking! It’s true.

At first, he showed only a passing curiosity. If I was in the kitchen fixing dinner or making a grilled cheese sandwich, he might wander by, look in and sniff, then move on. But as the weeks passed, he became increasingly fixated on the goings on in the kitchen.

Lately it’s reached to the point that every time I walk toward the kitchen, Prince excitedly falls in beside me. Once there, he stands in the doorway, watching enthralled as I slice turkey, peel potatoes or dice onions. He seems entirely fascinated by each movement I make.

Occasionally, I’ll toss him a small fragment of whatever I’m cooking, but this doesn’t really interest him. He just gobbles up the proffered tidbit as fast as he can, usually without bothering to chew, then resumes his vigilant monitoring. His concentration is laser-like in its intensity.

I don’t know what good can come of Prince’s education in the culinary arts. Despite his obvious love for cooking, the same lack of opposable thumbs that hinders his map-making is sure to hurt him here.

Still, if he’s this dedicated to the idea, maybe I should just leave a couple pounds of ground chuck on the kitchen floor, along with a carton of eggs and a few vegetables... Who knows what recipes Prince might develop?

* It’s official; I’ve lost the naming war with The Lovely Mrs. Taylor. As reported previously, I loathe the name “Prince,” and have campaigned strenuously to rename the dog “Max” or “Buddy” or “Dave”—anything but Prince. Mrs. T, who campaigned not at all, likes the name Prince. Guess who won? (Hint: The dog’s name is still Prince.)



More “Reality Check” online at http://mtrealitycheck.blogspot.com or www.milive.com. E-mail Mike Taylor at mtaylor325@gmail.com.